She’d been drunk. She should have been more careful. Tanner had been drinking too, and everyone knew guys can’t be trusted when they’re drunk. If she hadn’t wanted to have sex, why had she been there in the first place? Everyone knew that if you’re a girl and you show up at a frat party, someone is going to fuck you, especially if you get drunk and tease every guy in the room. He shouldn’t be held responsible for something he could barely remember doing himself…but it hadn’t been looking good for him, once news of the…incident had been leaked to the media. It seemed like everyone in the world had a pitchfork pointed at him, and when the prosecutor had offered him a plea bargain–the opportunity to participate in a reform program rather than serve a prison sentence…he’d taken it. Not because he’d done anything wrong, but because he knew he, as a man, would never get a fair trial, not with the political correctness brigades hounding the court for “justice”. The facility was private, and still very much a secret from the wider world–he hadn’t even been able to tell his parents where he was going, because he didn’t know himself. And now here he was, in some sterile room, stripped of his clothes, having just received a cursory medical examination–waiting.
The building had been massive, when he’d approached it with his lawyer, to turn himself in. Fortress like walls, several layers of tight security, every man at each checkpoint was just…huge. Tanner wasn’t a big guy, but as a championship swimmer he was in great shape–just small compared to the hulks surrounding him at every turn. The paperwork he’d signed had identified the place as simply the Halverson Men’s Reform and Punishment Center, which told him next to nothing, other than that it sounded like a prison. Still, “reform” or whatever generally took one year–much better than the fifteen year mandatory minimum he was looking at had he gone to trial. Even if it was a prison, he could hold out for that long at least.
The door opened. The doctor who had examined him came in, followed by a hulking man, easily as large as the men guarding the facility. He was dressed in a crisp, simply decorated uniform smoking a cigar, but the smell of him when he walked in didn’t seem to match the proper dress: smoke, sweat and a hint of rust. “Alright Tanner. I’d like to introduce you to Counselor Jackson, a level five reform subject here at Halverson. He, like you, is a subject here, but like all of our counselors, he is well on his way towards successful reform, isn’t that right, Jackson?”
“Hell yeah Doc!” the man said, grinning around his cigar, “One hundred percent man here, just like you could be, if you put your mind to it,” He crossed his thick arms, and stared down at Tanner.
Tanner was appalled, but said nothing. “Is he allowed to smoke in here?”
“Smoking is allowed throughout the facility, yes,” the doctor said, and made a note on a clipboard, “Now, Jackson here will be your mentor while you remain an initiate. He will take full responsibility of helping you adjust to the unique reform environment we foster here. Once we have determined you are prepared, you will transition into the broader subject population as a provisional subject. Generally, this initial mentoring period lasts around four to six weeks, depending on your physical and mental response. Each candidate spends a required year within the provisional population, or sometimes longer, if the assignment committee feels more observation is required to make a decision on a candidate’s appropriate reform level–”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Tanner said, interrupting him.
“Oh,” the doctor said, making a scribble on the clipboard, “Our counseling and reform structure was well detailed in the admissions packet you received. Did you read it?”
He’d been afraid to look at it, so he hadn’t. “Look, how long am I going to be here, exactly? How long has he been here?” he asked, looking at Jackson.
The doctor looked to the hulking man, who took a deep inhale off his cigar as he thought. “I suppose…four years now? But the release committee is meeting in two months to discuss my case, so I don’t think I’ll be in here too much longer–unlike you,” he indicated Tanner with a grin. “And some guys have been in here for, what, a decade? Especially at the lower levels?”
“Yeah, but I’d still say six or seven is a good estimate,” the doctor added.
“Six or seven years? No fucking way! This was supposed to be better than prison.”
Jackson guffawed at that line, and even the doctor smirked.
“Screw this, I’ll take my chance in court.”
“I’m afraid that once committed, no candidate has the ability to refuse reform. You are, one might say, stuck,” the doctor scribbled a bit more, and then set the clipboard down. “That’s enough for my initial observations, Jackson–you have Tanner’s file, of course. I’ll leave the explaining to you. All that leaves, then, is your band.”
Before Tanner could ask what he meant, the doctor slipped a metallic band, almost like a smartwatch with a blank screen around one wrist, and it cinched up tight to his skin–too tight to slip off, he discovered when he tried to tug it off. “What the hell is this thing?”
“Ask your counselor; I have another initiate to process.”
Tanner looked to the hulking mass of muscle, but he didn’t say anything, just waved him to follow him out. Two guards escorted them to a security checkpoint, they passed through into what Tanner saw was A Block. As they walked, Tanner was struck by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any cells around, nor many guards at all. If anything, the candidates had the run of the place…and everything was calm. The place did seem to get results, it seemed.
“This is A Block–if you’re good, you’ll end up here,” Jackson said, “As for your band, we all have one, see?” he held up his own wrist where a similar metal band hung. “As for what it does–well, it’ll be easier to show you than anything else. Come on, I’ll show you my room, where you’ll be staying for the next few weeks.”
Bracken's Corner 